


Courting in the kitchen

by ErRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV Multiple, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErRose/pseuds/ErRose
Summary: vignettes from the bunker's kitchen where two idiots pine over each other
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Courting in the kitchen

Castiel loved to watch Dean cook. Dean was always at his most relaxed while he cooked, and he smiled the soft, easy smile that Cas adored. So like a dog in search of fallen scraps of food, whenever he heard Dean clattering around the kitchen, he would wander in silently, looking for scraps of love. Just existing together was enough- sitting at the small table, while Dean prepped on the industrial island or talked over his shoulder while standing at the stove. Every so often, when the only thing left to do was wait, Dean would perch himself on the corner of the island and Cas would have trouble focusing. 

Sam or Jack occasionally found their way into the bubble inside the kitchen, and Cas tried to be more careful about his stolen glances and secretive grins, but even then, sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. They never stayed for long anyway. 

He was there the first time Dean successfully flipped a pancake in the pan without a spatula. When he looked up to make sure Cas was looking, Cas stood from the table to inspect his work. Dean’s enthusiasm was so contagious that he couldn’t help but grin and congratulate him on his handiwork. Somehow in the process, Dean had gotten batter on his face, just above his eyebrow, and Cas nearly breached the distance between them to wipe it from his brow with his thumb. The moment felt frozen for just a moment, as if this was what they had both been waiting for, but then the bacon sizzled, sending droplets of oil across the stovetop. Dean swore and shifted his attention, and the moment was gone. 

***

For some reason, when Cas was in the kitchen, Dean cooked like it was a performance. Like it was important that everything be just so, and that he look good doing it. He enjoyed the company, too. Cas would let him rant or call him out on his bullshit, always seeming to know which he needed. He could sit in a judgemental silence or laugh at the jokes that even Sam wouldn’t give a pity laugh. He helped him work out problems that had stumped him, and with Cas guiding him, the answers seemed to punch him in the face. Sometimes, when Dean looked at him, Cas would gaze down into his glass, a shadow of a grin and tinge of pink flashing across his face and Dean would feel the overwhelming need to know what he was thinking. 

The metal island between them felt important somehow. Any time they were on the same side the energy changed, became charged and unreadable. 

When he finally learned how to flip a pancake in the air, Cas crossed that invisible barrier, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Cas’ hand twitched by his side, and Dean thought, for just a split second, that he would touch his cheek in a tender caress. It was odd to imagine such a gentle touch from your best friend, but Sam always told him he was too touch starved -whatever that meant. But his bacon nearly burned and he had to turn away. Later that night, as he lay in bed, he regretted the decision to make bacon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back from a minor hunt, Dean was a little sweaty, but ‘way past starving’, as he wouldn’t stop complaining from the driver’s seat. With no diners on the way back to the bunker, he went right to the kitchen. Cas showered before following Dean to the kitchen, chasing that feeling of buzzing in his chest. Hair still damp, he threw on a soft t-shirt and made his way to the kitchen. The seat creaked as he took his usual place at the table. Something had already been started on the stove, but Dean glanced up from a pile of orange peels. He explained to Cas that he needed something to hold him over until dinner was ready, and Cas nodded, understanding. 

But when Dean pulled the orange in half, it’s juice dribbling over his hands, and held one half out for Cas to take, Cas was surprised by the intimacy in such a simple gesture. Dean hated peeling oranges, he complained of all the work it took and how often it left him covered in orange juice. He usually denied Sam even a single slice. While something simmered on the stove, Dean poured them both a drink and sat down across from Cas. They talked about the day and he let Dean brag about the hunt. It was easy- the way he thought love should be. 

Sam wandered in just as Dean popped the last slice into his mouth, and went back to the stove. The conversation continued, but whatever energy had built up as they shared the orange had dissipated. 

***

Sam had told Dean about a den of vampires not too far from the bunker just before dinner, so by the time they were on their way home, he was hangry. He stormed into the kitchen, and prepped everything for burgers, but that would still be a while before he could eat. He picked up the first food item he laid eyes on, an orange. Usually, they were too much effort, but right now, he didn’t care, and began to peel. 

Cas walked into the kitchen, running his fingers through his damp and messy hair, wearing an old tshirt he would have sworn was his own- it looked better on Cas anyway. Without even thinking about it, he pulled the two halves apart and offered Cas one half, as if he had peeled the orange with the intention of splitting it with him, as if they had done this a million times. Cas thanked him with a twitch of the corner of his lip that Dean couldn’t look at for too long. He complained of all the ways the hunt had gone wrong and the times Cas had nearly gotten himself hurt. 

When Sam came in, he felt like he had just been caught- the same feeling he had gotten when John had found his first porn mag- guilt and shame swelling up to his throat before he could repress it down again- compress it into his chest. So, he went back to the stove and finished dinner- something he knew he wouldn’t mess up or feel guilty about. But he could still feel Sam’s eyes on his back as Cas looked intently at his remaining slice of orange. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In all the hours Cas spent in the kitchen with Dean, he was never allowed to taste anything until it was finished. When he grunted with irritation every time he tasted it himself, he usually eventually figured out what was wrong and fixed it. But this time, he was getting more and more frustrated, slamming cabinets and digging through his spice rack with swears falling from his lips. Cas wanted to help, but knew that it was useless to ask what he needed, especially in the kitchen. So when he said, “Cas, c’mere and taste this, would ya?” with a sigh, he was startled, frozen to the spot for just a moment, before hastily coming to his side. 

Dean took a step closer, dipped a clean spoon into the creamy sauce and held it out, hand cupped underneath to catch any drips, and guided it to Cas’ lips. He ate whatever it was on the spoon, but didn’t taste anything because his mouth had gone dry at the feeling of Dean’s fingertips brushing against the stubble under his chin, and Dean’s warm breath on his face, those brilliant eyes searching his own for traces of something he couldn’t quite find. 

He tried to look thoughtful as he glanced at the scattered bottles of herbs and picked one at random. “Maybe you’re right.” He dumped a small pile into his palm and sprinkled it in. Cas was reluctant to leave this space, so close to Dean, and return to his seat on the outside, just watching. So he stayed, waiting for Dean to shoo him out of the way, but instead asked him to hand him the wooden spoon on the counter behind him. His chin still tingled where his fingers had brushed against him, and he watched Dean’s shoulders tense and finally shrug, and put down the spoon, calling to Sam and Jack that dinner was ready. 

***

It just wouldn’t come together. No matter what he added he knew it wasn’t right. He searched the kitchen, hoping it would hit him when he found the missing ingredient. He took a moment and sighed and glanced at Cas. He sat quietly, picking at the edges of the label on his bottle of beer. Dean called him over and he looked up, mildly surprised as if he thought he had been forgotten- as if Dean could possibly forget his presence. 

He never let anyone try his cooking before it was done. To do so would be to show his flaws, his vulnerability. So when he dipped the spoon in and invited Cas to taste, he was startled by his own actions. His fingers grazed the stubble on his chin as he pulled away, and he suddenly wanted to know what Cas would do if he took gentle hold of his chin and kissed the remaining droplets of the sauce from his lips. 

Even to an outsider, the image of him feeding Cas with a spoon would be intense and intimate, but with Dean and all of his insecurities, the tension was palpable. Cas selected a bottle, but all Dean could see was the drops that he had still not realized were left on his lips. 

He shook himself out of the haze and thanked Cas for the suggestion. He waited for Cas to scurry back to his spot at the table, but he just leaned against the counter, out of the way, instead; Dean found he didn’t actually want him across the barrier again, he liked Cas being in his space, in places he didn’t allow others to hover. 

He tried to finish cooking, but quickly realized it was a lost cause and whatever he had made would have to be good enough because he couldn’t focus with Cas’ electric stare on his back and his very presence filling the air with energy, just looking for a release. He called to the rest of the bunker to get their food, just to end this simple interaction that had his heart racing too fast. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Cas wasn’t there, Dean didn’t cook as much. Take out or shitty diners were easier and took less energy, and Sam and Jack didn’t seem to notice much difference in taste anyway. The kitchen felt too big and lonely, and he’d rather just eat alone in his room or at his laptop in the library than have to face the emptiness in the kitchen. To have to look up, expecting to see Cas, and instead seeing nothing, and being reminded of the fact that he was really alone. 

The take out was usually fine, but he couldn’t stop thinking what he would do differently if he made it himself, and wondering which Cas would like more. Cas occupied nearly all of his thoughts, but it was inescapable in the kitchen. 

And when Cas was taken by the empty, Dean didn’t cook at all. He barely even ate. Every so often, Sam could coax him into eating toast, but nothing heavier than that. Mostly whiskey with a beer chaser, it was the only way of easing the painful numbness that had engulfed him so fully. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you get your grubby little hands outta here,” Dean said with a light laugh and gentle slap to Cas’ wrist as he reached into the stir fry and pulled out a small broccoli floret. Cas pecked a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, and popped the broccoli into his mouth. Dean still flushed whenever Cas showed him such easy affection, but he always wanted more- leaning into each other on the couch, grabbing his hand in the grocery store, a touch on the knee while he drove. 

The Zeppelin mixtape he made for Cas- his first real attempt at exposing his feelings- played too loud from the stereo, and shifted from Whole Lotta Love into Thank You. When the verses started, Cas tried to pull him away from the stove to dance with him. Dean gestured to the pan of food, but before he could say anything, Cas glared at him and turned the burner all the way to low, and pleaded once more. There was only so much Dean could refuse himself when it came to Cas. They had spent so much time ignoring, denying, or hiding, that he felt that he deserved a dance now and again, even if it came at the price of overcooking dinner. 

They swayed together, holding on tight as if worried that they could be torn asunder at any moment, and Dean lightly sang his favorite lyrics into Cas’ ear.

Just as the song ended and they separated- Cas keeping his hand lightly resting on Dean’s lower back- they heard Sam and Eileen let themselves into the bunker. Dean had insisted that they keep a key when Sam moved out. Jodie and Donna would be coming over soon with the girls, and Charlie, Bobby, and the rest would filter in through the rest of the night. He and Cas had replaced the map table with a bigger table more suited to serve a family dinner on- and a table big enough to fit their whole family was hard to find, even if they only got to use it once in a while. 

Sometimes Dean imagined a regular house, with a regular kitchen. They could live like Eileen and Sam, running an occasional hunt, but living a domestic life together. Cas’ body may be new, but Dean had 41 years of treating himself like he would die any second, and it felt like it. He was tired and ready to move on. Maybe they could pass the bunker on to Jodie and the girls to keep as a meeting place. But for now, he had to finish making dinner.


End file.
